


Last Exit Before the War

by killabeez



Series: So Tonight [2]
Category: Jeremiah (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, First Time, M/M, Season/Series 02, Yuletide 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the last days before the final confrontation between Daniel's forces and the Western Alliance, Kurdy and Jeremiah find that detours happen, and that sometimes roads converge unexpectedly. Written for Kaethe in the 2004 Yuletide challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Exit Before the War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaethe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaethe/gifts).



> Written for the 2004 Yuletide Treasures project, for Kaethe. It is very roughly a sequel to So Tonight That I Might Sleep, but should stand on its own. It depends rather heavily on the last episodes of the series, in particular "State of the Union" and "Interregnum, Part 1," and will probably not make a lot of sense if you haven't seen those. Gently and expertly beta-read by Maygra and elynross.
> 
> Several chunks of dialogue in this story were written by J. Michael Straczynski and/or Sara Barnes. They were used without permission, but with deepest gratitude.

They heard Jeremiah long before they saw him, his grousing carrying easily through the door. He sounded like some grouchy bear out of a kid's book—_fee fi fo fum! Who dares disturb me in my cave?_

Kurdy flashed Smith an anticipatory grin. "Sounds like we got here just in time."

"...I'm closed, I told you! Go _home_, will ya—"

The door opened, and Jeremiah stood there in all his prickly, irascible glory, scowling mid-tirade and brandishing his foul humor like a weapon, a bristling show of porcupine spines that would make most people back off in a hurry.

Kurdy ignored it, letting his grin widen. "Hey, I didn't want to come. It was all Smith's idea."

Jeremiah's scowl froze for a second before it fell away, replaced by a lopsided smile that looked like it had been stuffed away in a drawer too long. "Hey, man." The tense lines of his body relaxed and he reached out, clasping Kurdy's hand and pulling him into the house, arms closing suddenly and fiercely around him. Kurdy returned the hug, reading the approval in Gina's face where she stood in the hall watching them.

Gina made herself scarce, and Jeremiah invited them in, getting drinks and asking them to sit down, listening to their plans for the next few days, even going so far as to tell Smith he was glad to see him. Just in time is right, Kurdy thought, and not a moment too soon by the looks of things. He knew Gina was tough, but she must have the patience of a saint to put up with Jeremiah when he was plainly one lit match away from going up in a blaze of stir crazy that would probably take half the town with him. He'd seen Jeremiah lose it before. It wasn't pretty—and you sure as hell didn't want to be on his wrong side when it happened.

"You look like you could stand to get away from this place for a while," he said, stating the painfully obvious.

Jeremiah just laughed, as if he'd gotten so used being held captive here by his obligations, he'd stopped thinking of escape as any kind of real possibility. "Yeah."

"Tell you what," Kurdy suggested. "We'll go drop some shit off. Say hi to Sandor. Hang out—we'll take our time. Markus said these radios have to go out, but they don't have to go out right this second. It'll be like a little vacation. What do you say?"

Jeremiah stilled as it finally got through to him that Kurdy was serious. Kurdy could see him turn the idea over in his mind like it was too good to be true, and a flicker of life stirred to the surface in Jeremiah's eyes as he realized the world wouldn't end if he gave himself a break for a couple of days. "Yeah. Yeah, a vacation. Sounds great!"

"We'll head out in the morning and take the scenic route. Give ourselves plenty of time to get to Three Hills before sundown. That sound okay to you, Smith?"

"Sure. I like scenery as much as the next guy."

"Good, then it's a plan." He smiled at Jeremiah, and cocked his head Smith's direction. "You know, he's a hell of a lot more agreeable than you ever were. Maybe he could teach you a few things."

Jeremiah's eyebrows rose. "What, you saying I'm not easy to get along with? I'll have you know I'm the epitome of grace and charm. You look up agreeable in the dictionary, and there's a picture of me. Just ask Gina."

Kurdy laughed, and remembered how that seemed to happen a lot when he was around Jeremiah. "Then that girl's more of a glutton for punishment than I thought." He sighed, and set his glass down. "And speaking of Gina, I should go check in with the troops, see if they need anything."

Jeremiah's brow creased. "There's no hurry, is there? You just got here."

Kurdy pushed himself to his feet. "I'll be back before dark. There such a thing as dinner around here?"

Jeremiah got up to see them to the door. "Gina's been bringing it by the last few days. When you see her, tell her you guys are gonna stay, and tell her she's welcome, too, okay?"

Kurdy made a mental note that he had one more thing to thank Gina for. From the looks of him, Jeremiah hadn't exactly been making food or sleep a priority, and it was good to know somebody was taking care of him, or at least trying to. "Yeah, man, I will." He squeezed Jeremiah's shoulder as they stood in the doorway and found himself hugging his friend again without thinking. They'd traveled a long, hard road to get back to this point in their friendship. Somehow, in the last few weeks, all the bitter anger he'd carried around inside seemed to have turned itself into resolve, into purpose, and it was suddenly easy to remember all the shit they'd been through together, all the times he'd counted on Jeremiah to get his back. He remembered how angry he'd been at Jeremiah, too, but it just didn't seem to matter any more.

Jeremiah squeezed hard and let him go, stepping back into the shadows of the hall with his hand on the door. His eyes didn't quite meet Kurdy's, but Kurdy saw him swallow and guessed Jeremiah was just embarrassed by his own emotion, too close to the surface. He knew what that was like.

Aware of Smith behind him, Kurdy let it go. There'd be time later for them, on the road again like old times. "Back in a bit," he said, and Jeremiah nodded. "Smith, you coming?"

* * *

They made an unlikely foursome around the dinner table, but at least they managed to find enough to talk about without going near the obvious subjects of war and the ever-present rumors of Daniel's troop movements. They talked instead about life in Millhaven, the little day-to-day changes in the town, and some of the more entertaining bits of personal drama that had kept things interesting in recent weeks. Building was going on all over the place, the townspeople making good use of the raw materials Thunder Mountain had granted them, and with the new influx of manpower from the troops stationed there, what had once been a transfer station for Valhalla Sector was becoming a real community. Jeremiah said there was serious talk about putting a library together over the winter, and that he'd sent word to Edgar at the Denver library about working out an exchange program.

Kurdy, for his part, was glad to hear that Jeremiah cared enough about the future to stay focused on running things in Millhaven, though it was obvious the effort was costing him. It was better than the alternative. He'd told Smith that he hoped he'd never again see the rage he'd seen in Jeremiah after Innsmouth, but worse had been the bleak despair when they'd failed to catch Sims. That despair had driven Jeremiah to kill a man in cold blood right in front of them, and that memory still wasn't easy to live with. It wasn't the first time Kurdy had seen that bitter absence of mercy in his friend's eyes, but it was the first time Jeremiah had let it win.

Kurdy wished he could believe it would be the last, but as long as Sims was still out there, the best he could do was get Jeremiah away from this place for a while. Remind him that life went on no matter what.

"So," he said when they'd laid waste to most of the food and things started to get quiet. "How long's it going to be before you all get a movie theater around here? 'Cause Edgar told me he's got some DVDs in those stacks of his, and I know there's got to be some more out there somewhere. We just got to find them."

Jeremiah's eyes lit up. "A movie theater. Man, wouldn't that be great? You think somebody's still got a player that works?"

"I found one once that ran on battery power," Smith piped up. "I took it apart, and I think I fixed it. No batteries to test it, though."

"You still got it?" Kurdy asked, but Smith shook his head.

"I traded it to a guy in Portland for my last pair of boots."

"You know, I could use a guy like you around here," Jeremiah said. "Somebody who's good at fixing things like that."

"Oh, no, you don't," said Kurdy. "You already got my best recruit. You're not taking Smith, too."

Smith brightened. "Kurdy, I didn't know you cared."

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head. I just don't want to have to break in another partner. Two's more than enough, believe me."

"Now, wait a minute," protested Jeremiah. "I think you got that the wrong way around—I broke you in."

Kurdy laughed. "Says you."

Jeremiah was grinning now, the shadows around his eyes softer, less noticeable. "You know, there's an easy solution to this. You could come back to Millhaven after all this is over. I got a nice little place on Front Street, nobody's living there. Needs a new roof and some pipes, but we could fix it up." His grin made it half-joking, but his eyes were serious, and Kurdy heard the hopefulness underneath it. He eyed Jeremiah keenly.

"Sounds like you're planning on sticking around."

Sitting back in his chair, Jeremiah shrugged as if it wasn't important. "I don't know. I might. You never know." He played with his spoon and let it go, but Kurdy heard the unspoken: I might, if you did.

But it was too soon to think about where they might be in a few months, a year. They still had a lot of fighting ahead of them before they could think about that. It was easier to think about movie theaters and libraries, even if they were just fantasies right now, than to think about how many people they knew might not live to see them. Maybe people at this table.

"So let's say you did get a movie theater going," Smith said, breaking the moment of quiet, "and you could have any movie you wanted, what would you show first?"

"On opening night?" Jeremiah asked. "Have to be a double feature."

"Yeah," Kurdy put in. "And there's gotta be popcorn."

"Yeah, and those little chocolate candies."

"M&amp;Ms."

"Yeah, M&amp;Ms."

"But what would you pick?" Smith asked. "For your double feature?"

Jeremiah considered. "If I could have any movie I wanted?"

"Kelly's Heroes," Gina said without hesitation. "Kelly's Heroes and Starship Troopers." She looked around the table. "What?" She popped a slice of apple into her mouth and chewed it. "That's a great double feature," she said, as if it should be obvious.

Kurdy was the first to start laughing. The other two joined in, and Gina grinned as she chewed. "Well, it is."

"How do you even remember that?" Kurdy asked, shaking his head. "You must have been like four years old or something the last time you saw a movie."

She just shrugged. "I have a good memory."

"Obviously."

Still grinning, Jeremiah nodded his head at Kurdy. "Kurdy, what about you, man? Any two movies."

Kurdy sipped his Kool-aid, and thought carefully. "Any two movies... okay, one of 'em has to be Casablanca. I've never seen it, but I read about it and it sounded cool as shit."

"One of the classics," Jeremiah said. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Right. And maybe... okay, if we're going with the classics, then I think my second choice would have to be The Wizard of Oz." Satisfied with his choices, he grinned back at Jeremiah's look of approval.

Smith was smiling, too. "The Wizard of Oz, that's a great choice. I always wanted to see that. I read the book when I was a kid, and I still remember it."

"Let me guess," Kurdy said, "the Scarecrow was your favorite."

"The Tin Man, actually," Smith said, then frowned. "Although, I always felt kind of sorry for the Wicked Witch."

Kurdy chuckled, and exchanged a look with Jeremiah. "Figures." He turned his attention back to Smith. "Okay, your turn. Any two movies."

Smith thought about it for a long time, as if the question were serious and required just the right answer. "It's a tough question," he said at last. "I mean, what criteria do you use to pick the perfect double feature? Should I pick something uplifting, or maybe something with an important metaphorical message? Something that represents our cultural history?"

Jeremiah made a derisive sound and shook his head. "It's just a question, Smith. There's no right answer."

"Well, I know, but I think it deserves some consideration. It's not every day you get to host the grand opening of a movie theater."

"Man's got a point," Kurdy said.

Jeremiah nodded in concession. "Man does have a point, I'll grant you that. Maybe we should call Markus, see if we can set up a meeting with the town leaders—"

But Smith smiled. "No, I've got it. My double feature would be A Night at the Opera, and Duck Soup." Pleased, he looked around the table for approval; his smile slowly faded as he looked from face to face and found only blank looks. "You don't like the Marx Brothers?"

Jeremiah looked to Kurdy. "The who brothers?"

Kurdy laughed and shook his head. "You got me, man. Sorry, Smith. I think you just exceeded the breadth of our combined cinematic experience. Which, admittedly, is probably not saying a whole lot."

Smith was crestfallen. "I just think laughter is the best gift you can give somebody, you know? It's the universal language. Okay, obviously not _that_ universal, but—"

"It's okay, Smith. I'm sure it'd be great." Kurdy's eyes fell on Jeremiah, and he saw that he was fading, the lines of his face drawn with exhaustion. Sleep had not been a friend lately, he guessed. "What about you, Jeremiah? Wait, don't tell me. Science fiction extravaganza."

"You got it. Robots and aliens, and spaceships to the stars. May the force be with you." He made light-saber motions, complete with sound effects, reminding them both of better days, and they laughed a little at the memory. How long ago was that? Could it be only last year?

"Some things never change," Kurdy said, and Jeremiah nodded.

"You got that right." They hadn't realized back then how simple things were.

"You look beat, my man. Why don't you hit the sack, and let Gina and me clean this up? We want to get an early start in the morning."

Jeremiah rubbed a hand over his face and nodded. "I am pretty wiped out. You don't have to clean up, though. I can—"

"It's no trouble, sir," Gina said, and at Kurdy's nod, Jeremiah gave in and got to his feet.

"Thanks, you guys. For everything. It's really— It's good to have you here."

"Hey, any excuse for a vacation, man." Kurdy smiled. "If I had to look at the inside of that mountain for another day, I don't think I could've been held responsible for my actions."

"Yeah, I hear that." Their eyes met and held for a long moment, and the naked gratitude in Jeremiah's embarrassed Kurdy, finally making him drop his gaze. He felt ashamed now of the way he'd kept Jeremiah at arm's length for so long. He'd had good reasons, but it hurt to see Jeremiah look at him like that, like Kurdy being there was the best Christmas present he'd ever gotten, and more than he thought he deserved. "Well, night, all," Jeremiah said at last, and when Kurdy looked up again, he'd started up the stairs.

Gina started gathering the plates and silverware together, and Smith got up, too, swinging his backpack over one shoulder.

"Where you going?"

"Just going for a walk. Got something I need to do."

"You do like that whole 'man of mystery' thing you got going on, don't you, Smith?"

Smith shrugged, his expressive face quirking in a smile. "Guess so."

"Well, I'll see you in the morning, then, double oh-seven. But be careful out there, okay?"

"Don't worry, Dad, I will."

Gina, as usual, brought new meaning to the word efficient, and the two of them made swift work of clearing the table. Preoccupied, Kurdy was uncharacteristically quiet as they washed up the dishes, scrubbing, rinsing, and drying in companionable silence; Gina wasn't much for idle conversation, anyway, and didn't seem to mind. It was done in short order, and Gina smiled at him as she wiped her hands on a towel.

"Anything else before I head back to camp, sir?"

"No, I think we're done here for tonight. I'm gonna check in with Markus and then make an early night of it myself."

"Good idea, sir. Best to get plenty of shut-eye when you can, I always say."

Kurdy had to smile. He wondered, not for the first time, how old she actually was, and if she even knew. "You really are like this all the time, aren't you?"

"Like what, sir?"

Smile widening, he shook his head. "Never mind. Come on, let's go."

They left together, turning off the lights as they went. Their breath clouded faintly as they stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind them. Lights still burned in several buildings scattered around the nearby streets, and on the edge of town, the floodlights of the troop encampment made a visible glow.

"It's good that you came, sir," Gina told him, her frank gaze meeting his under the porch lamp.

"Yeah, well. I had a feeling things might be getting a little rough around here."

"I've got no complaints."

Kurdy chuckled. "No, of course you don't. It's not your style." She said nothing, her expression as matter-of-fact as ever, but he thought he saw the corner of her mouth turn up. "Listen, Gina, I do appreciate what you're doing here. He's lucky to have you—we all are."

"Just doing my job, sir."

"Well, then, soldier, you keep up the good work."

"Yes, sir." She pulled her hat out of her pocket. "I should get back. Lots to do tonight if I'm going to keep things running smooth while you're gone. Goodnight, sir." She started toward the stairs.

"Gina, let me ask you something." She turned back, and he moved to the edge of the porch, leaning against the post. "How'd you get stuck with this job, anyway?"

Gina blinked. The slight hesitation might have been his imagination. "You asked for a volunteer, sir."

"That's right, I did, but I didn't figure it'd be you. I mean, don't get me wrong, but I figured you for the smart one of the bunch."

"Yes, sir."

Grinning at that, he folded his arms against his chest. "So you must have had a reason."

She put her hat on, pulling it down over her hair, and he couldn't quite see her eyes. "If you really must know, sir, I lost a bet."

"You what?" He wasn't sure he'd heard her right.

"I lost a bet, sir."

"You lost a bet."

"Yes, sir."

"So, what was it?" He was getting more curious by the minute.

She glanced up at him, then away; this time, the hesitation was noticeable. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"The bet! What was the bet that you lost? Come on, inquiring minds want to know."

Her eyes shifted back to his. "Is that an order...?"

"Yes, I am ordering you to tell me what bet you lost to get assigned to what is very probably the most thankless job in the Western Alliance. Come on, you're killing me here!"

At last, Gina straightened, and focused on a point somewhere over Kurdy's left shoulder. "There was some speculation regarding Jeremiah's... well, his personal life, sir."

"His personal life."

"Yes, sir."

"You want to be more specific?"

The point she'd chosen to focus on was getting exhaustive attention. "Not especially, sir."

He realized she wasn't having him on, and couldn't help it: he started to laugh. "You're serious. As little free time as you guys get, and you spend it speculating on Jeremiah's sex life?"

"Not just his, sir."

"Not just—" He stopped. "You know, on second thought, I don't think I want to know."

"You really don't, sir."

Gina's expression was disingenuous. With effort, Kurdy pulled his attention back to the question in point. "So, did this little wager involve Erin, or Theo?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly?"

She let out a breath as if giving in to the inevitable, and her expression turned wry. "Wrong gender, for one thing."

Kurdy's grin faded. Suddenly, it didn't seem that funny any more. "Does he know about this?"

"Does he—? No, sir."

"Good, then you keep it that way." Seeing her confusion, he blew out a breath impatiently. His own shadowy guesses about certain aspects of Jeremiah's past were no more than that, and he'd barely acknowledged them even to himself; he wasn't about to discuss them with her. Glancing toward the house, he closed the distance between them and pitched his voice low. "Look, you guys can make bets on the mating habits of Mexican jumping beans for all I care, but I've known Jeremiah a long time, and he's put his life on the line for me and everybody at the mountain more times than I can count. He'd do the same for any of you, just because that's the kind of guy he is. Now, he's been through a world of shit these last couple of months, and I don't like the idea of these rumors getting passed around. That's the last thing he needs to deal with right now. So you all find some other way to entertain yourselves from now on."

Gina held herself very still under his reprimand. "Yes, sir."

"And you'd better be sure I don't hear about it, because if I do, I'll make sure free time is not a problem, you got me?"

"Yes, sir. Reading you loud and clear, sir."

"Good."

He had never seen Gina fidget, but if she'd had it in her to do so, she'd be fidgeting now. "Sir, I really do have to get back—"

"Well, go on, then."

He'd been unfair to her, of course, and he realized it before she'd left the circle of light that spilled down the stairs, but he didn't call her back. Enlisted guys had been trading gossip about their officers since the dawn of time, if not before, and she'd only told him under a direct order anyway. It wasn't her fault the rank and file was going a little stir crazy themselves waiting for marching orders, the tension mounting every day that passed without incident. He'd seen himself the way rumors could get out of control faster than a brush fire. Theo with trucks full of food and liquor and fuck knew what else. The dead walking in Chicago. Jeremiah walking on the wild side. Sure, why not? It didn't take long for the slightest hint of rumor to become incontrovertible fact. Didn't make it true—not that he'd give a shit if it _was_ true. Which it wasn't, because he knew Jeremiah better than anybody. He'd seen him with Libby, with other women. He'd bet a year's supply of rock candy that he was right about this, and it was only gut instinct that made him so sure Jeremiah wouldn't take it as lightly.

He rubbed his face with both hands, wishing he could wipe away the whole conversation. What was that saying about curiosity killing the cat? And why did he never remember it when it counted?

* * *

They hit the road before the sun was over the roofs of the town, Kurdy behind the wheel and Jeremiah riding shotgun, Smith in the back between them.

To Kurdy's critical eye, Jeremiah looked marginally better. A little sleep and a hot shower had done him good, and he seemed more or less like his old self as they put sandwiches together and ate a quick breakfast of apples and cranberry bread, then loaded the packs in the truck. Smith was uncharacteristically quiet, but he'd been that way since yesterday, and who ever knew what was going on in his twisted brain? Kurdy figured he'd work it out eventually or tell him what was bugging him, one way or the other.

Leaving Millhaven behind, they headed east on the county highway, sunlight slanting across the windshield. He and Jeremiah bullshitted for a while, but before they'd gone forty miles, Kurdy said something about his plans for where they might stop for lunch, and Jeremiah didn't answer. Smith nudged him, and pointed with his thumb; Jeremiah had dozed off in the sun, his head resting on his curled fist.

"Good," Kurdy said quietly. "It won't hurt him any."

Smith just patted him once on the shoulder, and they drove on for a while, following the road until it turned north, then turning onto a connector for a few miles to pick up the state highway. Out here in the hills they could make good time; the four-lane road was still in decent shape, and the hulks of rusting cars were few and far between.

Ordinarily, Kurdy wouldn't have minded the time to think, but today his brain insisted on going back to that fucked-up conversation with Gina the night before. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Partly, he felt guilty for coming down on her like he had, but mostly he just wished he'd never gone there.

The thing that kept bugging him was he couldn't figure out where they'd gotten the idea that Jeremiah liked guys. He and Libby had been pretty common knowledge around Millhaven, and even back at the mountain they'd flirted some. So what was it? The fact that it had taken them so long to actually get around to doing anything about it? Those infamous leather pants of his? Or was it something else?

He would have written it off as the usual bullshit that happened when too many people lived too close together for too long, except for one thing—something that hadn't really registered last night. Gina had said she'd lost the bet, whatever it was. Which implied some kind of proof, didn't it? And you couldn't exactly have negative proof.

He glanced sidelong at Jeremiah, asleep, as if the answer would appear if he just looked with the right eyes, at the right angle. They'd spent more time together than Kurdy had ever spent with another human being in his life. They'd shared bunk beds, campfires, coffee mugs—hell, even sleeping bags, when it was cold enough. If anyone ought to be the authority, it was him, right?

Then there was the other thing. The thing he'd never really dwelled on too closely, partly because he hadn't felt like he had the right, partly because, he admitted now, he hadn't really wanted to know. No more than subliminal impressions, really... A handful of small things that might add up to certain truths if you let them. If you didn't respect your best friend's privacy, and his trust, enough to let them go.

Which he did. Which was why he should just drive the freakin' truck, and leave well enough alone.

* * *

Around midday, Kurdy took the turn for a state park some fifty miles outside of Three Hills. He glanced toward the passenger seat as they turned in at the gate, and saw Jeremiah stir finally when the road turned to gravel.

Kurdy reached over, patting him on the leg. "Hey, sleepyhead, rise and shine."

"I'm awake."

Kurdy chuckled. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Where are we?"

"Just a little detour, baby. Part of the deluxe vacation package."

"You sure? Because I don't remember signing up for this part of the tour."

"You just didn't read fine print."

They left the truck in a pull-out, grabbed the sandwiches, and hiked up an overgrown trail, Kurdy in the lead. Deer prints showed in the wet earth a few times, and early wildflowers were peeking out of the rocks, but no human footprints were in evidence and nothing larger than a warbler crossed their path. A few big clouds, heavy and hinting at rain later, drifted lazily in a mostly blue sky.

Maybe half an hour had gone by when Jeremiah, behind him, lengthened his stride to catch up.

"Come on, Kurdy, where we going?"

"Man, you really do need to work on that patience thing."

"So you keep telling me."

"Well, maybe you should try listening for once."

"I will, just as soon as you tell me where we're going."

"I told you, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because then it won't be a surprise!"

"I ever tell you how much I hate surprises?"

Kurdy was laughing now, unable to help himself. "Only about a thousand times. But you'll like this one, you'll see."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now will you stop acting five and get a move on?"

They heard the waterfall before they saw it, swelled by the spring rains and rushing against the rocks. A quarter of a mile further up, they reached it; the trail passed a little promontory about halfway up the falls, then continued beside them, turning steep further on. The three of them stopped on the little overlook and stood abreast, looking back down the gorge. A cold, fine spray dusted them, carried on the wind.

"This have a name?" Jeremiah asked at last. The wind lifted his hair off his forehead and chilled Kurdy's face, smelling like pine sap and wet leaves.

"Probably," Kurdy said, shading his eyes and looking up to the top.

"Guys, look," Smith said quietly, and pointed toward the other side of the gorge. Two whitetail deer, a female and an adolescent buck, stood motionless in the columbine, watching them. After a few moments, the doe bent her head and started nibbling at green shoots between the rocks.

"They don't seem too worried about us," Jeremiah said.

"That's cause we look like nice guys," said Kurdy.

"That must be it."

They watched the deer until they turned, unhurried, and slipped back into the woods. "What's the verdict?" Kurdy said. "We head back, or see if we can get to that rock up there?" The other two met his look, and he saw it was unanimous.

Jeremiah shook his head, a smile surfacing. "Up to the top, man," he said, and Kurdy grinned in answer.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time they got back on the road. Kurdy wanted to hit Three Hills before dark, but he figured they still had time for what he had in mind. He found the turn without too much trouble, though the pavement had seen better days.

They hit a deep rut, and Jeremiah held on as the truck jounced. "This the scenic part of the tour?"

"I don't know about you guys, but lunch is starting to seem like a long time ago."

"I'm with you, man."

"Good, then I hope you haven't lost your touch."

A row of wooden posts and a small sign whose painted letters had long since peeled off marked their destination; he stopped the truck and turned off the engine. "Smith, you want to grab that bag back there? No, the other one."

They climbed out, and Kurdy led the way down a short trail from the overgrown parking area. After a hundred yards or so, it opened out into a clearing; a lean-to was still mostly standing beside the trail. Beyond it, a tree-lined lake fed by a brook and a little wooden bridge flanked by tall reeds promised prime fishing. Smith put the gear down by the lean-to and started rummaging in zipper pockets while Kurdy and Jeremiah walked out to the edge of the lake.

Jeremiah breathed deep and leaned on the bridge railing, surveying their domain. Watching him, Kurdy felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Well? What you think?"

His companion shot him a sidelong glance. "You know this was here?"

"Sandor told me about it. Said it's so full of trout and walleye, you can practically invite 'em to dinner."

"Can't ask for better than that."

"Nope."

Smith appeared then, with the fishing line and hooks. "There's some tulip trees back by the trail, I think. Some of the small branches should make good poles."

"I knew there was a reason I keep you around," said Kurdy.

"You planning on belling the fish, or catching them?" Jeremiah asked. Smith had an odd assortment of small components in one hand, including a light bulb, wire, and a little bell attached to a piece of fishing line.

Smith just smiled his enigmatic smile. "You'll see."

An hour later, they had more than enough fish for supper. Leaving Smith to clean them, Jeremiah built a fire under the lean-to while Kurdy went back to the truck to get the cooking gear. When he came back, the flames were starting to lick at the bigger kindling, and Jeremiah was sitting on his pack, his head bent over something, a pencil in his hand. It was a composition book, Kurdy saw.

"What's that?" He sat down on a log across from him.

"What? Oh... nothing. Just a notebook." Jeremiah closed the book and fiddled with the corner of it.

"Well, I can see that. You been writing to your dad?"

"Nah, man." Meeting Kurdy's look, he shrugged, embarrassed, then looked away. "Libby. Trying to, anyway. It's hard." He tucked the book away into a coat pocket.

Kurdy nodded, thoughtful. "I hear you. You should keep trying, though."

"Yeah."

Kurdy picked up a perfect acorn cap and balanced his elbows on his knees. He folded his thumbs over the cap and blew to test its whistle.

"You talked to your dad lately?"

"Not much, no." Jeremiah smiled a little at that, eyes flicking back to Kurdy's. "Pretty ironic, isn't it?"

A whole lifetime was in that statement, and enough irony for a generation. Kurdy was probably the only person who could really appreciate all the history, though. How much of his life and his self Jeremiah had invested in the search for his father, and how much it had cost them both.

"Some things take time," he said.

"And some things just weren't meant to be. It's okay, though. At least I don't have to wonder any more, you know?"

Kurdy nodded, but what he was thinking was that some people just weren't meant to be fathers. He tossed the acorn cap away. "You never know. Things change, sometimes. People change."

"Yeah, I hear what you're saying." Jeremiah stirred the little fire with a stick, adding more kindling to the growing flames. "Anyway, thanks, man. This has been... It's been great. Almost like old times. I don't know what I would do without you."

Something settled into place, and Kurdy couldn't help making a fleeting wish that they could just keep going, forget about Thunder Mountain and Millhaven and just follow the road—north, maybe, far away from Daniel and the Alliance—just live on the road like this, where things were simple, and they only had each other to look out for. Jeremiah's eyes lifted to his, and for a second he thought he saw the same wistfulness there, the same impossible wish.

"My pleasure," he said. "Anytime."

* * *

What they found when they got to Three Hills brought an abrupt end to the vacation. For all intents and purposes, the place had been wiped off the map. Kurdy stopped counting bodies when they hit thirty, but it was obvious not many people had gotten out alive. He thought things couldn't get worse, but then they found out Thunder Mountain was having serious communication troubles—and not long after that, Smith discovered the hard way that Sims had left them a parting gift in the form of a minefield.

The three of them walking away from that little surprise in one piece was, as it turned out, the only thing they got right that night. The truck wasn't so lucky.

Which left them in the middle of B.F.E. without a map, a radio, or supplies. Perfect.

"Fuck," Jeremiah said, summing up the situation with his usual directness. "Nearest town's probably down that way. They might have something we can use to get to Millhaven."

By Kurdy's reckoning, they'd covered close to thirty miles on foot by the time Smith announced abruptly that he had to piss, and walked off into the trees. Jeremiah looked at Kurdy, his expression eloquent—is this one of those "God says" things again, or is this guy just nuttier than a fruitcake?—and Kurdy, at a loss, just sighed and went after him.

He hadn't gone far, and whatever was eating at him, it was obviously major. As soon as Kurdy caught up with him, pressed him on the subject, he cracked.

"When we were back at Innsmouth, I followed Libby. ...She was spying on us the whole time, Kurdy. She was telling them everything we were doing. ...Worst of all, she was lying to Jeremiah. She was using him."

Even though he could guess what was coming by that point, hearing Smith say it made it real. And the thing of it was, Kurdy believed him. It was too easy to see it.

He couldn't believe she'd fooled all of them. Jeremiah, sure. He'd been vulnerable, alone (and whose fault was that? a bitter voice asked)—of course Jeremiah had bought it. But Kurdy should have known something wasn't right. Maybe even _had_ known, on some level, only he'd been too wrapped up in other things to bother thinking about it.

"I just fired back. ...I watched her die."

Fuck didn't really begin to cover it—and he had no real time to deal with it. Hadn't even fully taken it in when they came over the hill and saw Cold Creek spread out before them, saw the chain link fences with the barbed wire, the armed guards and the satellite dish.

Under cover of darkness, they did what they had to do—no choice, really. Without radio communications, they'd lose the war before it ever started.

It was easier than it should have been. Despite the artillery and heavy equipment, the installation was undermanned, and Smith proved once again that for all his shyness and gentle manner, he was no coward. Kurdy figured he'd have to add another one to the list of times the guy had saved his life. One of these days, he might even stop being surprised by that, and by how well Smith managed to fit in with what had always been a two-man team. Jeremiah's look, when they were finally out of the line of fire and it was clear no one was on their tail, said it hadn't gone unnoticed.

They stopped to take care of business about an hour and a half from Thunder Mountain. Smith was the first one back to the truck, and he was waiting for Kurdy as he came up the road from the woods.

"So, what are you gonna do? About Jeremiah?"

"I'm still thinking about it, Smith."

For the rest of the drive, silence was a physical presence in the truck with them, and none of the three found words to break it.

* * *

Back at the mountain, they went round and round about Sims, about what their adversary's real or imagined objectives might be, but in the end it all boiled down to them not knowing squat beyond the fact that they'd maybe bought themselves some time. By the time the meeting broke up, Kurdy decided he didn't much care what Daniel's minions decided to throw at them next, as long as he got a hot shower first.

Half an hour later, feeling marginally better if no less tired, he went back to the room. He was surprised to find it empty.

A quick pass through the cafeteria and the rec room yielded no better results, but he spotted Erin rounding a corner at the end of the hall, and ran to catch up with her.

"Hey, Erin." He fell into step with her, and she smiled to see him.

"Hey, yourself. I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"I thought so, too, but I'm looking for Jeremiah. You happen to see him around?"

She stopped to face him, her expression bemused, as if he'd said something that pleased her. "I saw him talking to Markus outside the supply room a little while ago."

"What's that look for?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just glad to see you two on good terms again, that's all."

For some reason, he felt his face warm. "Yeah, we're okay."

"Well, that's good. A Hobbes without a Calvin's no good to anybody."

"A what without a who?" She drew a breath, and he shook his head. "On second thought, tell me tomorrow. Outside the supply room, you said?"

"Yeah, maybe ten minutes ago?"

"Thanks. I'll see you later."

"Sure thing."

He didn't find them in the south hall, but the familiar voices carried from the motor pool beyond; he followed them, and came around the corner to see Markus and Jeremiah standing beside one of the rovers, talking. Arguing, it looked like, though the tension was all on Markus's side. Jeremiah was leaning against the jeep with his coat on, his pack over one shoulder, wearing an odd look of stubborn defiance mixed with a grudging kind of affection.

Kurdy closed the distance, not liking what he saw.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Both of them turned to see him at the same time, but it was Markus who moved a little too quickly, something Kurdy couldn't have named flickering across his expression. Jeremiah just crossed his ankles and shifted his weight, his gaze meeting Kurdy's.

"Where do you think? Back to Millhaven."

"What? No way, baby, not tonight. We been on the road without sleep for two days. You hiked that same thirty miles that I did, plus you drove all the way back from Cold Creek. Markus, tell him."

"Believe me, I tried, but you can see how much good it did."

"Look, guys," Jeremiah broke in, "not that I don't appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. And I'll be better once I get back to Millhaven and make sure things are under control." He cocked his head and gave a lopsided grin. "Besides, if I don't make an appearance pretty soon, Gina'll probably show up here by morning with a lasso to hogtie me and throw me in the back of her truck."

Markus shook his head in exasperation. "I swear, I never met a more stubborn— Kurdy, how did you ever put up with him?"

"Hell if I know."

"I keep telling you, man, grace and charm. Grace and charm."

"And style, of course," Kurdy said, unable to resist.

"Right, don't forget style." For a second, Jeremiah's fatigue lifted and his eyes laughed.

"Call in when you get there, at least?" Markus said.

Jeremiah opened the door and climbed in, pulling it shut. "I swear, Mother, I will call in. I'll even put Gina on the line, and she can tell you all my parts are intact."

"You know," Markus reflected, "I don't think I even want to think about that."

With a chuckle, Kurdy said, "Right there with you." Grinning, Jeremiah turned the key and the engine started.

"You kids be good."

They watched his taillights disappear down the tunnel. When they were out of sight, Markus asked, "You think he'll be okay?"

"You mean besides being a terminal pain in the ass?"

"Besides that, yeah."

Kurdy sighed. "Once he makes up his mind to do something, he's kinda an irresistible force, you know?"

"Yeah, I've noticed that." Kurdy grinned a little in sympathy, but Markus's eyes were still on the mouth of the tunnel, and worry had drawn a line between them. "That's not what I meant, though. I mean, do you think he's going to get over this thing?" At last he looked at Kurdy.

Two days ago, Kurdy couldn't have answered that question. Twenty-four hours ago, he would have said yes, that Jeremiah was starting to seem more like his old self, starting to care about the world around him again. But now, knowing what he knew?

_He can never find out about this. It would destroy him._

He glanced away, not quite able to hold Markus's gaze. "I think so," he said. "I think he's getting there."

Markus nodded, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. "I hope you're right, Kurdy. I truly do. After everything that's happened the last few weeks, I keep wondering if I did the right thing, taking the fight to Daniel the way we did. I've doubted my judgment about the whole mess—not least of which whether I made a mistake giving Jeremiah a target for his rage like that. Maybe I should have kept him out of it."

Kurdy's mouth quirked. "Yeah, I'm sure that would have gone over well once he found out."

Markus looked wry at that. "I'll admit that had something to do with why I didn't."

"Listen, Markus, you got bigger things to worry about than Jeremiah right now. He'll do what needs to be done—you can count on that much, whatever happens. All of us will. We trust you. Now you gotta trust us, okay?"

Markus looked at him, the lines smoothing from his brow, a deep, genuine smile surfacing. "You sound like Erin, you know that?" After a long moment, he nodded. "Good advice, my friend. I'll try not to forget it."

Kurdy stifled a yawn. "Right now, I think I'm gonna go pass out, if you don't mind. It's been a hell of a day."

"No argument here. Sleep well, Kurdy. You've earned it."

The little room he'd once shared with Jeremiah was near the central exchange pipes for the thermal distribution system, so it was almost always warm; they'd joked about getting a tan while they slept, and hadn't usually bothered much with clothes. Tonight it was as warm as ever. The utilitarian bunk bed was comfortable and familiar, even without its second occupant, and he was all too glad to strip off his pullover and crawl into it.

His brain, though, didn't seem to get the message that it was time to shut down. Too many questions, too many things he wished he hadn't seen these last few days; they all made him wish he could just crawl in a deep hole somewhere and pull it in after him until it was all over. He wouldn't soon forget what they'd seen in Three Hills, and the stunt they'd pulled at Cold Creek would probably be haunting his nightmares for a good long while. He hadn't been that scared since the night he'd led the raid on Valhalla Sector.

Smith's revelation in the woods was a whole other can of worms—he still didn't know what he was going to do about that. There was never going to be a right time to tell Jeremiah the truth about Libby. The idea of keeping it from him made him feel sick, though, and the longer he did, the worse it was going to be when Jeremiah finally found out.

Something else was niggling at him, too. Alone in the dark, he let it surface, and turned it over in his mind, trying to figure out if his instincts were right, or if he was just losing it after all the little revelations of the past few days—because he couldn't quite get past the fleeting thought he'd had, when he first came into the motor pool, that he'd interrupted something between Jeremiah and Markus.

_So, did this little wager involve Erin, or Theo?_

Not exactly.

He tried to tell himself he was reaching, but instead found himself remembering the way Markus had been with Jeremiah right after Libby died, the day he'd come to Millhaven with Erin. He'd been able to reach Jeremiah, to stop him from throwing himself against the wall of his exhausted desolation when nobody else had, not even Kurdy. Markus had left the shelter of his mountain and risked his own neck; much more significant, for him, he'd put lives on the line and been willing to kill. None of that was lost on Jeremiah, and Kurdy thought maybe it was the only thing that had kept him from just imploding under the strain of his frustrated rage. Kurdy had seen the look on Jeremiah's face when Markus told them why he'd come.

Thinking about it now, the two of them had always sparked off one another. That friction made them butt heads right from the start, but it also made them friends, made them trust each other. It worked both ways, too; he'd seen Jeremiah get under Markus's skin in a way nothing else ever did. Tonight was a perfect example. And he was remembering now the handful of times when, after a close call or a rough mission, the two of them had stayed up drinking—those nights Jeremiah would come back to the room late, and the next day he'd be antsy to get back on the road. A few times, he'd been close-mouthed and preoccupied after one of those nights, and Kurdy had read it as just Jeremiah hungover and in one of his moods. Had it been more than that? And when had he first noticed that Markus and Jeremiah seemed to share a kind of shorthand of their own? After this last year from hell, they all shared it to some degree: he and Jeremiah, Markus and Erin, even Lee, in a way—but Jeremiah was different with Markus. Somewhere in the last year, the personality clash between them had worked itself out into a kind of balance that almost made sense.

Kurdy thought about what the difference was, trying to put his finger on it. He thought maybe he'd first noticed it when they were in Millhaven and Markus told them he wanted to go after Sims. A quiet had settled over Jeremiah, and the fire of rage and despair that had been burning in him since Innsmouth seemed to subside, as if that unexpected support replenished whatever last reserves he'd been using to keep himself going, and he could afford to relax a little. Like with Markus, he could let somebody else take the wheel for a while, in a way he never really had with Kurdy.

Something small and subtle turned uneasily in Kurdy's chest, and it took him a second to recognize it as a twist of jealousy. He'd gotten used to the idea of Jeremiah relying solely on him, and hadn't even realized how much he liked that—how much he'd taken it for granted. He didn't much like what it said about him and the way he'd kept Jeremiah at arm's length for so long; some part of him had obviously assumed that Jeremiah needed him too much to let go, that he'd be there when Kurdy was ready for him to be. And what did it say about him that he resented Markus for offering Jeremiah something he couldn't?

Unbidden, a mental picture flashed in his mind, and the laugh that escaped him made him glad he was alone. You obviously got an overactive imagination, he told himself, trying to forget the image before it could imprint itself too deeply. That was just what he needed—a Technicolor slide show playing in his head the next time he was sitting in a powwow with the two of them. Nothing like that to mess with your head.

Squashing the stirrings of curiosity with dogged determination, Kurdy flomped on his side and punched the pillow for good measure, burrowing into it and closing his eyes. That whole train of thought was definitely his cue to shut off his brain and get some sleep, before his subconscious took him places he really didn't want to go.

* * *

"Hey, Kurdy."

He was having another one of those Botticelli dreams. She was soft as silk, and she smelled like cinnamon, or maybe it was cloves...

"Come on, there's something I have to show you."

"Hmmm?"

"Kurdy? You awake?"

Kurdy opened one eye. The harsh glare of the desk lamp stabbed into it. An all-too-familiar face loomed over him. It was grinning.

"Do I look awake to you, Smith?"

"You do now."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Kurdy, come on, we don't have time for this. We've got to go. I have to show you something—you and Jeremiah. It's important."

Kurdy recognized that look, and knew no way in hell was he getting back to sleep any time soon.

"What time is it, anyway?"

At that, Smith's eyes shone in a way that someone who didn't know him might have found mildly frightening in its fervor, and probably indicative of more than a slight case of lunacy. "It's eleven minutes before six o'clock."

Kurdy groaned, and rubbed his eyes. "You have got to be shitting me."

"Don't you want to know how I know?"

"Excuse me?"

"What time it is. Don't you want to know—"

"Can't we just assume that I don't give a fuck, and that you're going to go away now and let me go back to sleep?"

"I looked at my watch, that's how."

"Smith, I swear, if you don't—" He stopped. "Your watch? The one that doesn't work?"

"Does now," Smith said, his grin practically outshining the lamp. He held up the pocket watch, and it swung gently over Kurdy's face. Even bleary as he was, Kurdy could see the second hand turning smoothly in its arc. He reached up and caught it in his hand; the unmistakable ticking of tiny gears counted a perfectly even rhythm, as if they might easily run for a hundred years and keep perfect time while they did so. He sat up, still holding onto the watch.

"When did this happen?"

"This morning. Just now."

"And you just couldn't wait to tell me the good news."

"There's no time! That's what I'm trying to tell you. You have to come with me, Kurdy. Things are being set in motion, and we've no time to spare."

"I see. And in this little fantasy world of yours, where is it that we're supposed to go?"

"To Millhaven, of course. I told you, I have to show you guys something. Now, are you coming?"

Kurdy rubbed his hands over his face and sighed, accepting the inevitable.

* * *

An hour on the road, the sun just cresting the hills, Smith was still talking a mile a minute about his watch and statistical theory and the history of miracle stories. Not that it wasn't sort of interesting—if you could follow his tangents—but Kurdy had other things on his mind, and he was having a harder time than usual tracking the labyrinthine turns and switchbacks of Smith's creative logic.

"...Kurdy, you with me?"

"Yeah, Smith, I'm with you. Hellenistic pagan myths, got it."

"You okay? You seem kind of distracted today."

"I'm fine. A little sleep-deprived—but then, you wouldn't know anything about that." Smith opened his mouth, but at Kurdy's look, wisely closed it. Kurdy, in spite of himself, felt a grin tugging at his lips. It was hard to stay mad at Smith for long—what would be the point? Probably explained how someone like him had lived as long as he had.

Suddenly thoughtful, Kurdy glanced at his companion again. The guy seemed so clueless sometimes, but other times he could surprise you with keen insight about the most unlikely things.

"Smith, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, of course."

"Just between you and me. You can't tell anybody about this."

"I won't." When Kurdy still didn't say anything, he looked over, concerned. "What is it? You can ask me anything."

What the hell, Kurdy thought. "Okay, this is probably gonna sound weird, but... do you think there could be something going on between Markus and Jeremiah?" Smith didn't say anything, and Kurdy glanced over to see that he was looking at Kurdy oddly. His face warmed. "What?"

Smith did that open mouth, close it thing again; his eyebrows rose. "Nothing, it's just—"

"Okay, never mind, forget I asked. It was stupid." Having said it aloud, Kurdy started to chuckle to himself. "I don't know where the hell I got that from, anyway. Paranoia must be startin' to get to me—"

"No, I mean—" Smith gave his short, breathless laugh. "It's just that I thought you knew."

Kurdy broke off mid-sentence and looked at him. Smith shrugged slightly, and it might have been apologetic. The tires scraped on the gravel shoulder and Kurdy pulled the wheel to the left, turning his eyes back to the road.

"So, I take it—" Smith started.

"No, okay? No, I didn't know. Since you ask, I had no freakin' idea."

"I'm sorry—"

Kurdy blew out a breath, shaking his head. He wished he could believe Smith was messing with his mind, but this was Smith they were talking about. "No, man, don't be sorry. It's not your fault everybody knows but me. It doesn't matter, anyway, it just—caught me off guard, is all. Forget it."

"Okay."

"Seriously, let's just pretend this subject never came up, okay?"

"Sure, no problem. Whatever makes you happy."

They passed an old road, grown over and cracked from frost; a wagon had lost a wheel at the turn, and lay abandoned in the verge. The asphalt spun away under the tires.

"It's just hard to believe he'd swing that way, you know? Markus, it's easy to see, don't get me wrong, but Jeremiah? I mean, you think you know a guy!"

"Well, you two haven't exactly spent much time together lately—"

"Oh, and you have?" He looked sharply at Smith, wondering how, exactly, he'd come by this privileged information when Jeremiah hardly trusted him to read a map or run a fishing line. He thought if anything, Markus trusted Smith even less.

"Well, no, not exactly."

"Not exactly is right. So how long have you known?"

Smith hesitated, probably trying to decide what Kurdy wanted to hear. "Remember when Jeremiah's dad was there the first time? It was around then. I came in late one night, and I cut through the hydroponics bay to get to my room, and there they were. They didn't see me."

"What, right there between the tomato plants and the zucchini?"

"No, Kurdy, it wasn't like that. They were just talking. You could just tell, that's all." There was a pause. "I'm sorry, I just figured you knew, considering—" he broke off.

Kurdy frowned. "Considering?"

"...can we make a pit stop? I think I went a little overboard with the apple juice before we left."

"Come on, Smith, you cannot just leave that hanging out there like that. We got enough secrets to worry about right now, don't you think?" He looked over and saw that find its mark. "Now, what were you going to say?"

Reluctantly, as if he desperately wished he'd kept his mouth shut, Smith sighed in resignation and said, "Considering it's obvious how Jeremiah feels about you."

It was probably fair to say that Kurdy stared at Smith as though a second head had suddenly sprung fully formed from his shoulders. When he could finally manage words, what came out was, "You really are out of your freakin' mind, you know that?"

Smith, supremely uncomfortable under his disbelieving stare, refused to meet his eyes. "You think so? I can't say the idea hasn't occurred to me."

"One hundred percent certifiable, in fact. I mean, I thought the talking to God thing was a pretty dead giveaway, but now there is no doubt in my mind—you have definitely, without a doubt, been munching on the bad mushrooms."

Smith shrugged, and looked away. "If you say so."

The truck ran onto the shoulder again; Kurdy yanked the wheel back sharply to the left and it rocked, then steadied. Out of words, he shut up

After a while, he said, "You got a real gift for timing. Anybody ever tell you that?"

"Let's just say you're not the first," said Smith.

They drove for a while without talking. Eventually, Smith took his pocket watch out and started playing with it absently, running the chain over and around his fingers. It caught the sunlight and glinted in Kurdy's peripheral vision, its soft ticking drowned out by the steady drone of the truck's engine.

* * *

If it was hard to act normal around Jeremiah after that, Kurdy quickly forgot it in the face of what Smith had to show them. Whatever he'd expected, a school full of child prodigies run by survivors of the Big Death didn't even come close. That such a place could exist, that something so fragile and miraculous could have survived this long, gave him hope; he saw the same sense of wonder in Jeremiah's eyes, and let himself feel a little hopeful about that, too.

Unfortunately, the day went swiftly downhill from there.

The news of the attack on Thunder Mountain came as a blow, but worse was the realization that came after they'd returned to Millhaven and put out the orders for all Alliance troops to report there: until Sims made his move, they had little choice but to sit tight and wait. There simply weren't enough trucks to go around, and as a result it might take the better part of two days to assemble their full complement of soldiers and equipment. In the meantime, Markus and Erin would have to keep their heads down and hope for a chance to use their helicopters, their own troops pinned down by the threat of artillery fire.

Kurdy knew Jeremiah was right, that splitting up their forces was exactly what Sims wanted them to do, but the thought of firepower like that right on Markus's doorstep made his hackles stand on end. Nor was he fond of the idea of sitting still, waiting for the second hammer to fall—but they were short on choices. History was pretty clear about what happened if you charged the line too soon.

At some point near dusk, on his way back to Jeremiah's place from conferring with Gina and Mike about bunking arrangements and munitions inventories, it occurred to him that he was, for all intents and purposes, in charge of the future of the free world. It should have bothered him more than it did, but the truth was that somewhere along the line he'd stopped fighting the role Fate had assigned him, and just learned to deal with it. He did the job because somebody had to, that's all. How many of the people he'd read about in history books could have said the same thing, he wondered? Probably a hell of a lot.

As he neared the steps, he saw Jeremiah coming down the street from the other direction. He had a toolbox in his hand, and several loops of wire slung over his shoulder; he looked like he'd been grubbing in the dirt all day, which he had. The mines Sims had left for them in Three Hills had given him the idea to rig something similar, in the form of buried charges triggered by hidden tripwires in certain parts of town. If Sims managed to circle around them, or if his men got in among the houses, they'd try to drive or lure them into the alleys and gardens where the wires were hidden.

"Hey, man," Kurdy said. "You get the charges laid?"

"Yeah, all except the last two streets on the west side of town. We'll do those in the morning, soon as it gets light."

"Good. Let's hope we don't need them."

"And that nobody gets stupid and forgets where they're walking."

"That, too."

"Come on inside. I gotta get cleaned up—I'm offending even myself, here, and that doesn't happen often."

A smile tugged at Kurdy's lips. "Tell me about it."

They went inside, Jeremiah leaving the wire and the toolbox on the dining room table and stripping off his sweater, making a beeline for the bathroom off the kitchen. "I think there's still some quiche in there. Help yourself, and heat me up a piece, will ya?"

Kurdy realized he was watching him, and made himself look away, going to the fridge. He heard the water start as he got the food out and put it on the counter. Hell of a day, he thought, if it could make him forget that conversation he'd had with Smith entirely until now.

Absently, he turned on the oven, found a pan, put the slices of quiche on it and put them in to heat. Jeremiah had left the bathroom door open; steam started to billow into the kitchen.

"You find it?"

"Found it," he called back, trying not to think about Jeremiah naked in there. Not that he hadn't seen everything Jeremiah had to see more than once, but he really didn't want a replay of the previous night's musings—especially not now that he knew it wasn't all hypothetical. Most definitely not while Jeremiah was in the next room.

He got a cup and poured himself water from the pitcher in the fridge, then wandered into the dining room. He circled aimlessly, and found himself staring at some kind of enameled plaque with a faded picture of a milk bottle on it. When was the last time people got milk delivered in bottles, anyway?

Jeremiah and Markus. Markus and Jeremiah. _You could just tell, that's all._

Except, apparently, if you made a special effort to stay oblivious to the painfully obvious truth about your best friend. So obvious that recruits who hadn't been there a month picked up on it.

_It's obvious how Jeremiah feels about you._

"Hey, Earth to Kurdy."

He jumped guiltily. "Sorry. I think I went to Tahiti there for a minute." He turned around; Jeremiah stood a few feet away, naked to the waist, rubbing his hair dry with a towel.

"Yeah, I could tell. Did you hear me?"

Kurdy took a drink of water and moved a few steps away, feeling the heat in his face, grateful it probably didn't show. "No, what'd you say?"

"I asked if you'd heard from Clarefield."

"Oh, yeah. I talked to Theo. She's sending two trucks down with automatics and magazines, and the troops came in this afternoon. Three whole companies, with body armor and weapons."

"Body armor! Where the hell'd she get that?"

"I don't know, man, I didn't ask."

"Probably wise." Jeremiah flashed him a grin, a glint of his old self surfacing. He draped the towel around his neck, then ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up in an imperceptibly more orderly fashion than it had been standing up a second before. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"I never turn down food, you know that."

"Indeed I do, my friend. You put the plates out. I'm gonna run upstairs and grab a clean shirt."

It took conscious effort to keep his eyes where they belonged—and what the fuck was that about? You got to get a hold of yourself, my man, Kurdy told himself sternly. You really are starting to lose it.

He kept it together through dinner, but too many subjects seemed to come dangerously close to hidden minefields these days, and he breathed easier when he left. Between Smith's secret and this new thing, he was starting to feel like an undercover agent playing a part every time he was around Jeremiah, and it was worse when they were alone. He never had been much good at pretending; now that Jeremiah was bouncing back a little, starting to find his focus again, Kurdy couldn't help imagining the way that would all come crashing down when Jeremiah learned the truth about what had happened to Libby. What would it feel like to know the woman you'd loved, grieved for, killed for, had been a cold, calculating snake in the grass who'd lied to you from the start? He didn't want to think about it, but they were running out of time.

As if by that prescient sixth sense of his, Smith was sitting under the gazebo across the street when Kurdy came down the steps.

"I read a book once," Smith said without preamble, not looking at him. "It said that we'd reached the end of history. That everything big or important that was going to happen had already happened. If that's true, maybe the years since the Big Death were like... the world resetting itself, and now history's starting all over again." His watch was in his hand, and he studied it, thumb running gently over the clasp. "I think that's maybe why my watch started up again. There's a word in Latin for it, I heard it once a long time ago. For the time between when a king dies and the next king takes over. Inter... something."

"Interregnum," Kurdy supplied. It was a thought that had occurred to him, too, more than once. But right now, he was more interested in the important things a little closer to home. He'd let this go on for too long already.

"That's the one. Maybe that's what the last sixteen years have been—an interregnum. Once I read about—"

Kurdy broke in. "You have to tell Jeremiah."

"Tell him what?"

"The truth about what happened to Libby." Smith looked at him in disbelief. "Jeremiah's not stupid," Kurdy said evenly. "He knows you're hiding something, and that's getting in the way of us doing what we're gonna have to do."

"If I tell him that she was working for Daniel, he'll never believe me. He'll kill me. The thing is, I could live with the 'he'll kill me' part better than I could knowing that he'll never believe me." He gave that little breathless laugh of his. "Of course, saying that I could live with him killing me is a bit of an oxymoron, but..."

"I believe you," Kurdy told him. "And I got your back."

"I can't."

"You can," Kurdy insisted. "And you will—or I will." He understood Smith's fear, and he knew it wasn't cowardice. He didn't want to see Jeremiah hurting like that, either, but some secrets only hurt worse the longer they stayed buried, and this was one of those, in spades. And there was no way in hell he was letting Jeremiah go into this fight believing in a lie. "Jeremiah's right," he said, moving closer to sit on the railing, trying to make Smith see what was at stake. "Sooner or later, Sims is going to come here. Probably sooner, and when he comes, he's gonna bring a lot of his close, personal friends with him, and I don't—" His throat closed unexpectedly, and sudden heat shimmered across his eyes; he had to draw a careful breath against it. "Look, I don't know what's gonna happen when that day comes, but I do know this. I have never lied to Jeremiah, and I feel like I'm lying to him now by staying silent. And before he goes face to face with this guy, he has a right to know the truth. To know what he might get himself killed over."

Saying it aloud made it true; the heat pressed close, a sinking weight in his stomach and a fierce ache in his throat. Whatever bitterness had been between them, even pissed as he'd been for most of the last year, he'd missed Jeremiah like his right hand—the thought of losing him now hurt like a gut shot.

"Now's not a good time," Smith was protesting, too deeply enmeshed with his own demons to hear what Kurdy was trying to tell him. "I mean, with everything that's going on—"

"It's never a good time for the truth," Kurdy said flatly. "You tell him, or I will." He held Smith's gaze until he saw he'd been heard. "You got till tomorrow night."

He turned and walked away before the heat behind his eyes could escape. Taking deep breaths, he lengthened his stride, heading in the general direction of the encampment. All this waiting was getting to him; he needed to find something useful to do to take his mind off of Jeremiah. Tomorrow night would come soon enough.

* * *

In the end, it was about as bad as he'd expected; then again, he'd been prepared for the worst, so that wasn't saying a whole lot. Any mine you can walk away from, he told himself when the worst was past, grateful that the three of them had all managed to get out of that room in mostly one piece. Given the way things were going lately, he counted it a point for the good guys.

He felt like he'd already been through the war, though, when it was all over. Trying to hold on to Jeremiah without hurting him, to keep him off Smith, had cost him a few not-insignificant bruises, and he'd be feeling his bad knee tomorrow for sure—it throbbed gently in time with his heartbeat, promising at least a week of soreness to pay for the twist it had taken when they went down. His cheekbone had taken a good knock from Jeremiah's hard-ass head, too. But none of the bruises or wrenched muscles quite accounted for the soreness he felt inside. That ache ran deep, and kept him on the porch long after Smith had gone and Jeremiah had disappeared upstairs.

He didn't think Jeremiah wanted to see him, or anybody, right now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave him alone. He couldn't make it hurt any less, couldn't make it easier, but at least he could do this, as useless as it was—at least he could stay and watch his back.

What he really wished he could do right now was get his hands on Liberty Kaufman. He'd given Jeremiah hell for taking on guilt that wasn't his, but that didn't stop him from feeling like if anyone should have seen through her act, it was him. He'd had his doubts about Jeremiah's dad—he remembered that now, with the useless clarity of hindsight. They all had, even Jeremiah. Why had they never wondered about Libby? She'd spent years in Valhalla Sector, knew as much about the virus as almost anyone—how had they never once thought about what she might be capable of?

It might have been an hour or more that he waited on the porch before he heard the door open at last. Almost afraid to look, he finally turned his head; his appraisal was swift and discerning, telling him in the space of a few seconds what he needed to know. Jeremiah looked, not surprisingly, like death warmed over, but he also looked like a man who'd been through Hell and come out the other side more or less in one piece.

He met Kurdy's eyes with a kind of blunt, bitter courage that hurt to look at, but not half as much as it had hurt to see him lashing out in blind agony and rage. The accusation that Kurdy half-feared was nowhere in evidence.

"You okay?" he asked.

Jeremiah nodded, swallowing. "Yeah." He'd yelled himself hoarse, and his voice sounded about as rough as he looked, but his eyes were flint and steel. The inner battle he'd fought was written there, and Kurdy knew he'd accepted the truth.

Kurdy sighed, the pressure in his chest easing a little for the first time in hours. "I know you don't want to believe it, Jeremiah. I didn't want to believe it either, but it all tracks."

Jeremiah shook his head, going to lean against the opposite railing, moving like a man three times his age. "No, I didn't want to believe it. Why would anybody want to believe it? I wanted to prove it wasn't true. That he was lying. So I went upstairs. I was looking around." A deep, painful breath revealed how deeply the words cost him, and he covered his eyes with his hand. "She had a radio, hidden in her closet. God damn, man. I mean, god damn." He banged his head gently on the post behind him, an eloquent expression of pain too big for words.

Kurdy tried to pull him back from it, keep him focused on what mattered. "Look—you know? It doesn't matter who pulled the trigger that night. It doesn't. It was still Sims who killed her. He pulled her in. He turned her out. He got her working for him. He's the one responsible for this. All Smith was doing was trying to protect himself. If he hadn't fired back, he'd be dead right now and we would have somebody in our camp that we couldn't trust."

"I know."

"We can't afford that."

"I _know_." He met Kurdy's look, steel for steel, and what Kurdy saw in his face wasn't blame being laid, just a fierce and bitter purpose. "Look, I don't want to see Smith right now. I don't want to see him, I don't want to hear his name. Even knowing what I know, I can't guarantee what'll happen."

Kurdy couldn't help thinking of the look on Smith's face earlier that night when he'd braved the lion's den, but he just nodded, accepting Jeremiah's terms. "Got it."

Like embers stirred by a shift in the wind, Jeremiah's anger sparked again, raw energy crackling almost visibly under his skin. "See, that's the thing about guys like Sims. They corrupt everything they touch. Since day one, everything that we loved or cared about, they either killed it or turned it against us. No more. He tried to cut our head off by taking out the mountain. First chance I get, Sims is a dead man."

Kurdy hadn't really let himself believe that Jeremiah's rage had burned itself out, but maybe some part of him had hoped, just a little. Some part of him that never quite stopped wishing he could change this one thing about Jeremiah, this stubbornness that refused to give way to reason or compassion or any other force in the known universe.

_And when that day comes, nobody can stop me. Not Markus, not nobody. Not even you_.

He didn't expect Jeremiah to listen, but he had to say it. "You don't have to do this alone, you know."

Jeremiah looked at him, then. Really saw him, past the bitter betrayal that was still eating him up inside, and would until he found that other heart into which to plunge the spike from his own. "I know that." His voice was no more than a rasp, hoarse with emotion. "And I appreciate it—more than you know. But you got other things to worry about, and I can't—I can't lose you, too. You hear what I'm saying?" Brightness shone suddenly in eyes already red from crying.

"I hear you, man." Kurdy's own voice was rough. Memory flashed on the roadblock in the woods: Jeremiah stepping between him and two guys with machine guns like it was nothing. He dug his fists deeper into his pockets, wanting to reach out, stopped by too many uncertainties and a sudden failure of nerve. "Listen, you gonna be okay tonight? I don't have to be anywhere for a while, I could—"

But Jeremiah was shaking his head, rubbing his hands over his face. He kicked the heel of his boot against the porch and pushed himself away from the rail post. "Nah, I gotta—I think I'm gonna go for a walk. Try to get my head together, you know? I just gotta get out of here for a while."

Kurdy nodded. His throat felt like somebody had been squeezing it for the past two hours. "Well, keep an eye out for suspicious-looking wires."

One corner of Jeremiah's mouth turned up. "I will if you will."

His hands still safely tucked in his coat pockets, Kurdy watched him out of sight.

* * *

Back at the barracks, he found Smith sitting alone at a table, staring into the distance with a fixed expression he didn't know how to read.

"Hey." Smith looked up, and Kurdy sat down across from him and took a deep breath. No easy way to say it except just to say it. "Jeremiah's... gonna need some time. You know?"

Smith nodded. "I appreciate what you did. If you hadn't been there, there'd just be a Smith-shaped smear on the carpet." Kurdy smiled at that, but Smith didn't return it. "So what do I do from here?"

"Well, he doesn't want to see you for a while. Maybe a long while. Probably not until Sims is dead. I think that's the only thing that's gonna even things out. Let him move on, and get on with his life. You know?"

"Yeah." Smith seemed to accept it, the barest hint of a smile surfacing at last. "Yeah, I know."

He really was a good guy, Kurdy thought, even if he was a little nuts—but then, it seemed like that described a lot of people he knew.

Smith got up then, picking up his pack.

"Where you going?"

"For a walk. Take care of something."

The camp was still busy at this hour, and Kurdy finally sighed and pushed himself to his feet, making the rounds. They'd brought in almost eight hundred troops since that afternoon, so he introduced himself to the ones he hadn't met yet, checking to see that equipment, weapons, and ammunition had all been distributed. He could feel the press of time, the hours ticking steadily by, drawing them closer to the inevitable moment when they'd have to face the test of all their preparation, all their training.

Looking around, seeing all the young faces and their faith in him, their veneer of courage and bravado, he knew they weren't ready. Sims wasn't going to wait for them to be ready. All Kurdy could hope for was that he'd done his job well enough that they could keep each other alive, and that something, some turn of luck or Markus's sharp brain or maybe even Smith's God, would buy them a chance. A miracle was sounding pretty good right about now.

The trucks were still coming in, and would be most of the night. He caught a glimpse of Gina at some point, still going gangbusters, and wondered if he could bottle and sell whatever magical fuel she ran on; what they would have done without her, he didn't know.

After he'd made his scheduled check in with Markus, he found himself wandering the outskirts of Millhaven, half-watching for a familiar silhouette. Maybe more than half, if he was honest with himself. Markus had said he'd gotten a call from Sims earlier, that he guessed he was close—not that it was news. But somehow, knowing he was out there in the darkness somewhere, waiting, maybe watching them... It would have given him the creeps even if Jeremiah hadn't made it clear that he was planning to go after the son of a bitch.

He tried to tell himself that Jeremiah wouldn't just go like this, without telling anybody, but it was too easy to imagine him doing just that. Memories of gunfire in the woods at night, of searchlights and black helicopters, were all too vivid. Why had he let him go off like that, anyway?

If Elizabeth were here, she'd tell him she'd told him so.

The streets were quiet by the time he circled back around to Jeremiah's house, though the vibrations of the trucks still rumbled through the ground now and then. It had to be around midnight, he thought, but the porch light was still burning when he got there; Jeremiah hadn't come home yet. He went up the steps and sat down on the top one, leaning his forearms against his knees. It would have been easy enough to just go inside and wait on the couch, where it was warm, but he couldn't help thinking he was getting soft lately with all this indoor living. At least the cold would keep him awake.

It didn't distract him from the ache he'd been fighting all day, though, and that momentary lapse in his guard came back and hit him hard, then, a wave of longing that made it hard to breathe. He hadn't felt it like this in months, but right then he missed Elizabeth so much it felt like he was hollow inside. He wished desperately that he could talk to her, tonight of all nights. She'd listen, and somehow she'd understand everything that was going on, and know just what to say to put everything in perspective. He could just hear her lilting voice; could imagine the way her soft green eyes would rest on him, making everything better just with the way she looked at him.

If he had pencil and paper, maybe he could take a page from Jeremiah's book and write her a letter. Maybe somehow she'd know.

But wishing wouldn't get him anywhere—no more than sitting here on this step would stop Jeremiah from getting himself killed. He didn't know how to stop doing either, though, so he guessed he was pretty much fucked.

He looked up at the sky out of habit, but the stars were hidden by clouds tonight, no answers there. A chill haze cloaked the woods to the south; by morning, there would be frost on the grass. It seemed fitting that the night was as murky and cold and bleak as he felt.

_Dear Elizabeth_, he started in his head.

He fell asleep there, leaning against the rail post.

* * *

"Hey."

Jeremiah was shaking him. Cold, he thought; the fire must have gone out. Had it been his turn to feed it? "I'm on it," he murmured before he was really awake.

"C'mon, man, you don't want to sleep out here. Take it from one who knows, your ass will not thank you in the morning."

His ass was already not thanking him, as it happened. He took note of that fact as he shrugged off sleep and remembered where he was, and why. He'd been afraid Jeremiah might be gone—but here he was, leaning over Kurdy with a hand on his arm, looking a little better than the last time Kurdy had seen him. Like he'd cleared his head some, maybe.

Seeing he was awake, Jeremiah clapped him gently on the shoulder and straightened up, leaning against the railing. His breath clouded in the air. "What are you doing out here, anyway? I thought you were going back to camp."

"Yeah, well. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay, is all."

"You forget how to work the doorknob?"

Kurdy rubbed his hands together and then blew into them, trying to wake himself up and get the blood flowing again. "Something like that."

"Look, not that I don't appreciate the thought, but you don't have to baby-sit me. I'm fine." At Kurdy's look, he amended that. "I'm working on it, anyway."

"If you say so."

Jeremiah gave him a long, enigmatic look, then offered his hand. Kurdy sighed, and took it, letting Jeremiah lever him to his feet.

"Why don't you come inside?"

"Nah, man, you need your rest. I'll bunk at the camp."

"Just shut up and come inside, all right? You can sleep on the couch. Or you can have the bed if you want, I don't care. I'll sleep on the couch. Either way, could be a long time before we're sleeping indoors again. Might as well enjoy it—for the five hours we got left, anyway."

Kurdy drew a deep breath and glanced down the street toward the lights east of town, but couldn't think of any good reason to argue. "Yeah, okay."

They stopped just inside the door. The living room was a topography of violent desperation: overturned lamps and furniture, smashed pottery and glass, splintered cabinets and scattered books.

"I really trashed the place, didn't I?" Jeremiah said wryly.

"I hate to say it, my man, but you sure did."

"Needed redecorating anyway."

Kurdy smiled, but what he was thinking was that he knew what that kind of rage felt like. He might have done better to break a few lamps himself, instead of carrying it around inside for so long. "We'll clean it up in the morning," he said.

"Why, what's the difference? It'll still be there when all this is over, or it won't, in which case, we won't be around to worry about it."

The man did have a point. "Can't argue with that."

Jeremiah found a tired smile of his own, and his eyes held the same awareness of time running out that made Kurdy's heart feel like something was squeezing it. "You want something to drink?" Jeremiah asked, and his voice was still rough. Kurdy swallowed, only then realizing it had been hours, and his own throat was dry as sand.

"Yeah, thanks."

Jeremiah turned and went into the kitchen, his boots crunching softly on the carpet. "Careful, there's broken glass over here."

Kurdy followed, but stayed in the doorway, leaning on the jamb as Jeremiah pulled open the fridge. The image was so domestic that it struck him as oddly surreal.

"What?"

"You ever think you'd be keeping food in a refrigerator again?"

Jeremiah made a sound that might have been a laugh. "You get used to it pretty quick." He took out a plastic pitcher and shut the fridge, then went to a cabinet and opened it. "It wasn't so bad, though. When we were on the road. You know?"

"Yeah, I hear you."

Jeremiah was still looking into the cabinet, the pitcher resting on the counter, but his expression said his thoughts were elsewhere. "How do you think they're doing at the mountain?"

"I checked in with Markus. He says they're doing okay, sitting tight. Sounded like he's still got a few tricks up his sleeve."

Jeremiah nodded, but his expression didn't lose its distracted stillness. He didn't seem to see the row of glasses in the open cabinet and looked like he'd forgotten why he'd opened it.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah, man." As if the lapse hadn't happened, Jeremiah blinked, then took down two plastic cups and set them on the counter, pouring orange drink into them. "This must be driving Markus crazy, being stuck in there while the rest of us are out here in the open."

"Yeah, I kind of got that idea." Jeremiah's mouth quirked at that. Kurdy hesitated, then said, "You guys seemed pretty tight the other day."

"Me and Markus? Yeah, I think he's finally gotten used to me. Only took two years." He handed Kurdy one of the cups. Kurdy drank deeply, the sweet liquid tasting better than any Kool-aid had a right to.

Jeremiah watched him for a second, then went to put the pitcher away. He shut the fridge, sipping at his own juice. His profile was thoughtful. "He's been great about—about Libby, and everything. Everybody has. I haven't really—" He swallowed, eyes flicking down, then over at Kurdy. "I don't know how to thank you guys for the way you've come through for me. It means a lot."

"Have you told him that?"

Jeremiah's frown lines deepened. "What do you mean?"

What the hell, Kurdy thought. It was never a good time for the truth, but he got the feeling Jeremiah needed to hear this particular truth—and who else would tell him? "Look," he said gently, "it's obvious you mean a lot to him. He watched you shoot a guy in cold blood right in front of him, and he never said a word about it. You think he'd do that for just anybody?"

Jeremiah drew a breath that looked like it hurt him. Faint color appeared in his cheeks. "I know," he said roughly, then looked away. "I know, you're right."

"I mean, we don't know what's going to happen, you know? I just think it can't hurt to... you know, make sure certain things get said that need to be said, that's all."

Jeremiah made a small, abortive gesture, then sipped at his drink, moving restlessly as if this particular truth was uncomfortable and he couldn't quite stand still for it. "No, you're right. You'd think I'd know that by now."

Kurdy felt something settle into place. Maybe it was something in Jeremiah's face, or maybe it was in his voice, but any doubts he'd had slipped away, forgotten. It might be a while before he sorted out his own feelings about it, but he couldn't help smiling a little—it seemed so obvious now, it was hard to believe he'd missed it for so long. "So, were you ever gonna tell me?"

"About what?"

"About you and Markus."

Jeremiah choked on his Kool-aid, and Kurdy chuckled.

"Hey, easy, man. It's okay, it doesn't bother me. Okay, it bothered me a little at first, but I think it was just the mental picture, you know?"

Still coughing, his face bright red, Jeremiah glared at him. "Jesus, fuck, warn a guy, would you?"

Kurdy shrugged, enjoying this more than he probably should have. Somewhere in the landscape of their rocky friendship, tectonic plates had shifted, but Kurdy realized it didn't really change anything that mattered. "I could say the same thing. I mean, damn, I thought I knew everything there was to know about you."

"Yeah, well, surprise."

"Now there's the understatement of the year."

Jeremiah looked at him sidelong, cautious. "So you're okay with it?"

Beat as he was, Kurdy found a smile for him. "Yeah, man. Doesn't change anything."

At that, Jeremiah's mouth twitched. "No, I guess it doesn't. Not in the long run." He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, the choking fit past. Finally, he asked, "How long have you known?"

"Not long."

Jeremiah met his eyes then, intent. "And what made you bring it up now?"

Under the pressure of that look, Kurdy's chest went tight. "I dunno, man. I just thought we might not get another chance, you know?"

The lines of his friend's face altered, as if it wasn't what he'd expected. At last, he said, "Yeah, maybe not."

That wry humor was in his eyes again, and Kurdy knew too well what it meant—that he wasn't afraid of dying, if it meant Sims died, too. That maybe he even welcomed it a little. For that, and for all the time he'd wasted, Kurdy admitted the deeper reason.

"I guess I just wanted you to know that we're good, that things are right between us. No more keeping things from each other. We been doing that too long."

Jeremiah nodded. Their eyes held, and it was a seal on everything they'd been through, all the months of hurt and anger and grief, and finally, acceptance. Whatever else happened, whatever else the world could throw at them, they were good.

Jeremiah's fair skin betrayed his sudden embarrassment. "I would've told you, I just— I didn't know how, and with everything else we had to deal with..." His voice had gone hoarse, and the lines of his face were bleak, painfully sharp.

"Hey, it's cool."

"Then there was Libby, and it just didn't seem important right then—"

"Like I said, it's cool." Kurdy searched Jeremiah's face. Curiosity got the better of him. "What about now, though? I mean, after this is all over. You two still...?"

Jeremiah shrugged. "I don't know, man." He turned away, moving with that restless energy, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't think about that right now, not until this is over. Tell the truth, sometimes I can't believe it ever happened. We're like night and day, Markus and me, like black and white, you know? You know what I mean. Sometimes I don't even think we speak the same language. Not like you and me." He broke off and glanced at Kurdy, the color blooming in his cheeks. "That's not what I— I didn't mean that we—"

Their eyes met and for a split second, everything in the kitchen was still. To Kurdy, it felt like everything in the world was still right then, like the night was holding its breath. Then Jeremiah started to laugh. "Come on, man, don't fuck with me." It should have broken the tension, but there was a breathlessness under the laugh, a hint of panic Jeremiah couldn't quite suppress. Exhaustion and emotional fragility had left him without his usual prickly defensive armor; his voice betrayed him. And Kurdy, who knew him better than anyone, finally understood that Smith wasn't crazy. At least, not about this.

"Jeremiah—" His voice didn't sound right.

Desperation coiled tightly in Jeremiah's frame, his hands making fists as if he wanted to hit something. "Kurdy, man, come on—it's been a long fucking day, and I really do not need you fucking with me—"

Kurdy took a step toward him. "Hey. Nobody's fucking with you, okay? Take it easy."

"It's not that I—" Jeremiah started to pace again, agitated, scrubbing his hands over his face. The panic threatened to spill over. "Look, I know you don't, that you're not—"

"Jeremiah."

He finally stopped and looked at Kurdy. They read each other clear as day like they always had, the way they'd done a hundred times when their asses were in the fire and their lives depended on being able to know exactly what each other was thinking. They'd never lost that, but somewhere along the line, Kurdy realized, he'd stopped really looking. Or had this been there all along, and he just hadn't wanted to see it?

Jeremiah laughed, his eyes bleak. "I'm fucked, aren't I?"

Kurdy could think of only one answer to that. "We're all fucked, my friend. Didn't you get the memo?"

Jeremiah was still laughing silently, and Kurdy found he was half-grinning. Then his throat closed. He reached out and pulled Jeremiah into his arms.

Jeremiah squeezed hard, then started to pull away, trying to keep it together. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to—"

Kurdy stopped him, put a hand on the back of his neck and looked hard into his eyes. "Don't. We been through too much together, you and I. You're my best friend." Jeremiah let out a choked sound, but Kurdy held on. "The best friend I ever had. Even if we don't make it through tomorrow, that's never gonna change." As if something in him gave way, Jeremiah leaned into him, and Kurdy's hand came up, holding his head there against his shoulder, his chin resting against Jeremiah's temple. "Okay?"

He felt Jeremiah draw a breath and let it out. "Yeah, okay."

He could feel the fine tremor, but Jeremiah held on tight this time and didn't let go. Still tougher than he looked, Kurdy thought, and he closed his eyes and let the tears come, feeling them slip down his face. He'd been more worried than he knew that Jeremiah wasn't going to forgive him for his part in Smith's deception. More than that, they'd both needed this for too long.

Jeremiah felt small against him, the fine bones of his neck fragile under Kurdy's hand. But his arms were strong, and Kurdy had seen his small hands take out guys half again his size—still trusted them more than any gun or rocket launcher or troop of soldiers. Elizabeth had said they'd be safe as long as they had each other, and Kurdy still believed it, whether it made any sense or not. It was the one thing he was sure of.

"Kurdy?" Jeremiah said, muffled against his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"It is tomorrow."

"Yeah." He felt Jeremiah sway against him, dead on his feet. He felt like he hardly weighed anything. Kurdy cleared his throat. "Come on, my friend. You need to get some sleep."

"It's a long way up those stairs."

"You can make it. Come on."

In the hall, Jeremiah went a few steps up the stairs, then turned back. "Are you—?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Exhausted past words, Jeremiah nodded, and went.

Feeling his own fatigue like weights, Kurdy stepped over the broken glass in the living room and skirted the shattered lamp. He stopped beside the couch and thought about sitting down on it, about unlacing his boots and stretching out and waiting for sleep to come. It wouldn't be much of a wait.

Shadows crept closer around the edges of the room, but instead of giving in to them, Kurdy found himself listening for sounds from upstairs. How many nights had they slept across a fire, or in their small bare room at the mountain, no more than a few feet between them? If he hadn't met Jeremiah, he never would have gone to Thunder Mountain in the first place, and everything in his life would be different now. He'd be different.

_Even if we don't make it through tomorrow, that's never gonna change._

His thoughts twined around themselves, turning and twisting. He thought about all the kids depending on him, about Markus and everybody trapped back at the mountain, about Jeremiah and how life was funny, how you never knew where the road you chose would lead. He'd never expected Elizabeth—never even knew someone like her could be real until he'd looked up one day, and there she was.

It had never occurred to him, when he was so busy blaming Jeremiah for Elizabeth getting hurt, that it was only because of Jeremiah that he'd met her at all. And what was he supposed to do with himself if Jeremiah went and got himself killed tomorrow? He'd been living with that fear ever since Innsmouth, and it wasn't getting any easier. It still felt like a cold fist in his gut, knotted up in his insides, just like when he'd held Elizabeth's hand and felt her slipping away. Just the same.

_I'll know it when I see it,_ he'd said once, about a million years ago. But you had to open your eyes for that to happen, didn't you? Maybe he'd stopped doing that when Elizabeth died.

Maybe this time it had just been too close for him to see it.

Glass crunched faintly under his boots. He pulled them off and left them at the bottom of the stairs; at the top, he pulled his sweater over his head. Moonlight pooled on the wood floor from the window above the landing. Barefoot, gooseflesh prickling over his chest and stomach, he pushed open a door.

"Kurdy?"

The sheets were cool, and he shivered, but Jeremiah was fever-warm when he slipped under the covers. He'd forgotten how Jeremiah could generate more heat that you'd ever believe possible to look at him. More than once, he'd been grateful for that.

Never so much as now. "I'm not going anywhere," he said roughly, and when he spread his hand against Jeremiah's belly, he felt the scar, felt Jeremiah shudder at his touch. "Not tonight, anyway. You okay with that?"

Jeremiah drew a sharp breath under his hand. "Okay—?" He gave a breathless laugh, and then he turned and broke against Kurdy like a wave, his face rough and warm against Kurdy's neck, his hands clutching at Kurdy's shoulders and sliding up, slipping beneath his hair, pressing him close. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay with that. I'm so fucking okay with that, they don't even have a word for that level of—" He broke off and pulled back, his eyes a faint gleam in the almost-dark. "What the hell am I talking for?" he muttered, and closed the distance to Kurdy's mouth.

Kurdy wasn't really ready for it, but Jeremiah's lips were as warm as his hands, his tongue touching gently, asking. After the first moment of surprise, Kurdy let his lips part, answering before he half-understood the question; the answer surprised him, too. His hand spread against the whipcord muscles of Jeremiah's back and Jeremiah groaned softly into his mouth, a vulnerable sound that cut him to the heart.

They did have a word for it, he thought, feeling it in the low thrum of response his body gave, in the sweet ache that started somewhere deep within him when Jeremiah moved against him, sliding one leg between his. A good word that was all about knowing who you could count on, about finding your faith again, about holding on to something solid and not letting go, no matter what.

Bottom line, it was the only truth that mattered.


End file.
